This time he grabs Raffe by the neck, lifting him off the floor. Raffe’s face turns red, veins popping on his temples as Beliel crushes his throat.
A loud boom shakes the building above us. Concrete debris crashes through the door to the garage. Several of the remaining glass columns crack, causing the monstrous occupants to gyrate in agitation.
I run toward Beliel.
The sword feels solid and well-balanced in my hands. I swing back the sword and get yet another shock.
The sword adjusts itself.
I could swear it tweaks its angle to raise my elbows higher. It’s ready for battle and thirsty for blood. I blink in surprise, almost missing my timing. But I don’t miss my timing, because, though my feet are frozen in shock, my arm moves in a smooth arc, led by the sword.
I’m not wielding the sword. It is wielding me.
I swing the sword at the same time Raffe whips his deadly wings at Beliel. My sword slices through the meat of his back, wedging in his spine.
Raffe’s wings shred the demon’s cheeks and lay open his forearms. He screams, letting go of Raffe’s throat.
Raffe crumples to the floor, gasping for breath.
Beliel staggers away from us. Maybe if he hadn’t just been through surgery, he would have been strong enough to withstand us both. Or maybe not. The bandages around his middle must be from the sword wound Raffe gave him a few days ago during their last fight. Beliel’s wounds won’t be healing any time soon if Raffe is right about angel swords.
My blade swings back again, clearly wanting me to attack him again. Beliel stares at me with eyes bewildered, no less surprised than the angels who had seen me kill their coworker. An angel sword isn’t supposed to be in the hands of a human girl. It just isn’t done.
Raffe springs up and charges Beliel.
I watch in awe as Raffe pummels Beliel with blows so fast they’re almost a blur. The force of the emotion behind those blows is immense. For the first time, he doesn’t bother to hide his frustration and anger, or his longing for the wings he lost.
As Beliel staggers from the blows, Raffe grabs his old wing and pulls. Stitches begin popping out of Beliel’s back, fresh blood staining the once-snowy wings. Raffe seems determined to get his wings back even if he has to rip them out of Beliel’s flesh, stitch by stitch.
I grip Raffe’s sword. I guess it’s my sword now. If the sword rejects him as long as he has his new wings, then I’m the only one who can use it.
I move toward Raffe and Beliel, ready to slice the wings off.
Something grabs my ankle and pulls from behind. Something slimy with an iron grip.
My feet slip on the wet floor and I slam down onto the concrete. The sword skitters out of my hand. My lungs spasm so hard at the impact that I think I’ll black out.
I manage to turn my head to see what has a hold of me.
I wish I hadn’t.
CHAPTER 42
Behind me, a well-muscled scorpion fetus opens its jaws to scream at me, revealing rows of piranha teeth.
Its undeveloped skin shows its veins and the shadows of muscles. It lies on its belly as if it crawled all the way from its shattered tank to get to me.
Its deadly stinger shoots up and over its back, aiming for my face.
An image of Paige and my mother running through the night flashes through my head. Alone. Terrified. Wondering if I’ve abandoned them.
“No!” The scream is torn from me as I twist unnaturally to avoid the onrushing barb. The tip narrowly misses my face.
Before I can even take a breath, the tip whips up and jabs down again. This time, I don’t even have time to brace myself as it whips down towards me.
“No!” Raffe roars.
My body jerks as the stinger punctures my neck.
For a moment, it feels like an impossibly long needle digging its way through my flesh.
Then the real pain starts.
A burning agony spreads across the side of my neck. It feels like I’m being shredded from the inside out. My breath comes in harsh gasps and my skin breaks out in a sweat.
A tormented scream bursts from my throat and my legs pump in frantic kicks.
None of that stops the scorpion fetus from coming for me. Its mouth opens as it nears, poised to give me its deadly kiss.
Our eyes meet as it pulls me to it. I can tell that it thinks sucking me dry will give it enough energy to survive outside its artificial womb. Its desperation shows in its grip, in the way it opens and shuts its mouth like a fish trying to breath, in the way it squeezes its veined eyelids shut as if the harsh light is too much for its underdeveloped eyes.
Its venom spreads a swath of torment across my face and down my chest. I try to shove the scorpion angel away, but all I can do is feebly nudge at it.
My muscles are beginning to freeze.
The stinger suddenly rips out of my neck. It feels barbed, like it’s pulling my neck inside out.
Another scream rips through me but I can’t release it. My mouth only opens a crack. The muscles in my face just twitch instead of contorting in agony. My scream sounds like a weak gurgle.